


you can sing me anything

by itsforscience



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-29
Updated: 2010-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-08 10:02:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsforscience/pseuds/itsforscience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<em>If I could attach our blood vessels so we could become each other I would. If I could open your body and slip up inside your skin and look out your eyes and forever have my lips fused with yours I would.</em>" | bodyswap</p>
            </blockquote>





	you can sing me anything

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the [jan 10 09](http://community.livejournal.com/we_are_cities/217908.html) prompt at [we_are_cities](http://community.livejournal.com/we_are_cities).

Pete spends hours alone in his own bunk, with his own things. Just him in his own space, but in Patrick's skin. Hours staring at Patrick's hands, his arms, his torso. But he sets a line for himself, won't touch or look anywhere Patrick wouldn't want him to.

 

*

 

Patrick's been watching him, whenever Pete decides to leave his bunk when it's not _just_ for a show. His own face staring back at him with subtle concern. But it's Patrick through and through, strangely. Pete thinks vaguely how Patrick wears him better than he does. His features aren't as tired, except for lack of sleep. Because that's years of fucked up that not even Patrick can fix.

He wonders how he makes Patrick look.

Patrick laughs, Pete's hoarse voice coming through, he says, "I thought I was sleeping next to you when I woke up, because I saw your tattoos."

Pete smiles at him and it doesn't feel forced, these lips lift easily into a real smile. Genuine. No slight tension from pretending.

A smile and a pat on the shoulder, then Patrick's gone, walking off the bus. Pete understands anyway, they'll talk about it later.

 

*

 

Days pass by but they don't tell anyone. Even with Patrick's voice Pete sings the notes a little off-key. No one notices. No one except for Patrick, anyway. Pete knows he notices because he feels his eyes on him, _his_ eyes.

Patrick as Pete on bass, however, barely misses a beat.

 

*

 

You ever feel like someone could be a better you -- but if you were them you'd just be bringing them down.

 

*

 

Pete's asleep in his bunk when the bus pulls over. His body still jolts awake at sporadic times of the night - a mental habit still, if not physical - but now he actually manages to go back to sleep. Something he's been reveling in for the past week.

This time though, when he startles awake he hears someone come onto the bus, someone breathing just outside his bunk, someone pulling back his curtain.

A hand rests on his chest, _his_ own hand. And his forehead presses against his. His, Patrick's.

They stay like that for a while, close and just breathing. Pete wonders if he'll fall asleep like this, Patrick hovering over him. His eyelids are getting heavy.

But Patrick pushes lightly, knuckles pressing in, fingers clenched in Pete's shirt, his shirt. Pete moves back instinctively, giving Patrick room as he tumbles into the bunk, moving in close.

Patrick smells like himself even in Pete's clothing, his skin, it's comforting.

"I miss you," Patrick tells him, voice hushed, but rough because it's Pete's. "Or you miss me, or we miss being ourselves, something like that."

Pete's hands find their way to Patrick's waist, his. "I've been wishing I could fit under your skin for years," he says, "just to get closer to you."

Patrick blinks at him in the dark, waiting, patient. His eyes are still his eyes. The bus rumbles and starts moving again, Patrick nudges his thigh between Pete's.

"I miss you singing to me," Pete admits softly, lips pressing it against Patrick's cheek like a secret. "Sing to me."

"You have my voice."

"You're still you." His mouth moves down, against the corner of Patrick's mouth. His. There's a narcissistic joke in there, or insult. Take your pick.

Patrick sings softly, whispering the words against Pete's mouth until they both fall asleep.

 

*

 

In the morning, Pete wakes up on the opposite side of where he fell asleep in the bunk. And Patrick's face is in front of him, sleeping, dreaming.

He presses a small kiss against Patrick's lips and closes his eyes, not to sleep, but just to pretend he's Patrick a while longer.


End file.
